dans l'obscurité, à la recherche de lumière
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: [AU] In a world where the ancient powers still rule, the lands struggle against each other in the blindspots of truth. But some who set out to fight find themselves being forced to turn off the straight black road, but can they restore the Ancient Court or will their newfound knowledge simply send them - and their world - into a greater despair?


**A/N:** This is a rewrite to the original version, which was taken down and didn't get too far into the story anyway. I figured it was a good opportunity, with NaNoWriMo – it really does help get some stuff done, doesn't it?

Sadly, NaNo has also meant that my original prologue has become its own arch with full-length chapters (this first one being 6k). So the recognisable stuff won't be coming until a little later on. I don't think the old draft has even spoilt anything for this chapter. :D Except the fact that it doesn't start off all action-y.

On the original notes which still apply, the title is French and translates to "in darkness, in search for light" or "searching light without illumination". They mean the same thing essentially. There'll be more French in here, since I've made that the language of this alternate world. Not proper French mind you; it's mostly Google Translate stuff for the places, and a few quotes that will be explained/translated when they pop up.

Improvement from my original note I think. :) Let's hope the writing has improved as well. Enjoy.

* * *

**dans l'obscurité, à la recherche de lumière**

**Arc 0: Chapter 1  
Those Swimming Faces**

The faces on the water swam and blurred, and Chiaki frowned, reaching for her drawstring bag of colourless crystals. A pinch of the salt was dusted on the surface, gleaming in the low candlelight of her bedroom chambers before the water sucked them dry. The light spread, pooling at the bottom of her deep basin and rising up the edges too…and yet, the faces she sought on the water's surface remained as dull and indiscriminate as they had begun.

She sighed, then put her little drawstring bag away and cast her mind elsewhere. The faces disappeared, showing her other scenes instead: the vast forest-land of Forêt with its array of exotic plant-life and rough terrains and their lively night-market, the glamorous architecture of Lumière's sleeping capital, and Noirceur's quietly whispering streets that flickered in lamp-light in the darkness. She cast her thoughts deeper in, looking for a cat she had passed that very day, huddled under the camellias of an old woman's home. She found it there still, sleeping under the pale pink flowers with the light autumn frost crisping his fur.

She turned her thoughts aside, focusing once more on her goal, hunting the Seer. It was a difficult task, and a near pointless one; Noirceur was littered with people who claimed the gift of precognition – and most of them under pretence at that – but the one she searched for was not in Noirceur, but in Forêt.

It may have been chance, or destiny showing its hand, however the King believed this Seer's visions to be true and so she watched him closely. Watched his sleeping form now, Seeing…Seeing into the future perhaps, into a world which had cast its curtains upon the rest of the world but parted them for a chosen few, or one if the tales were to be believed.

She did believe in them, for it was that which gave her otherwise meaningless power meaning. For she was a _Scryer_ who had nothing to search for, nothing to find. She had nothing she truly desired: not to know the parents who had died too soon after her birth, nor to follow some lover crossing borders into distant lands. She had no dream she lived to see fulfilled – but the King bade her to keep her life in his service, and she accepted him. He gave her work at least, and a future purpose to look forward to. A purpose that might give some reason to her birth, and her power.

And, in the meantime, she lived a life of contentment, painting images of the world she saw swim in faded colours and tones from the safety of her bed-chambers. And she painted many a thing: things that mildly interested her, and were remembered, and sometimes the unchanging scene which did not.

She tried to probe further again, and the image changed, then blurred. The boy approaching manhood was gone, and in his place were a pair within whom which she could distinguish nothing at all.

Still, she brought out her canvas and charcoal, freezing the water's image with a different set of salts, these ones as black as the night's sky and resting in a dull pile at the basin's base. But they held the image there without interference, and sure that nothing would change until at least the midnight hour passed, she took a piece of charcoal and began to sketch.

* * *

Kouichi felt his dream shift so smoothly from intangible darkness and muted sound to a dimly lit hall that he found himself feeling the candlelit warmth through thin flowing garments over his form before his eyes took in the scene.

The world slowly fleshed itself out around him; sound seeped in through an airtight bubble that muted his dreams. His own body shaped and formed, so he was no longer the master of his dreams but a spectator in a far larger debacle, and the flowing garments now wrapped themselves around a young woman, while the candle relit itself in the hands of a slightly older man. Their lips moved in conversation, but he could neither discern their sounds nor their more subtle features.

He recognised neither of them from what he _could_ discern, nor did it seem they existed in Forêt where he lived. He could feel no cold draft in the hall – customary of the Wind-top palace nested on the forever growing straight-backs of the forest's centre. The Elder tree they called it as a collective, though it was many trees in truth, no longer distinguishable. It was said to be the eldest tree in the Continent, long since infertile but digging its roots deeper into the soil all the same. The smooth white trunk had long since split into near-separate pillars of support, bound together by the sparse interconnecting branches equally even and pale. Slowly, the Palace was lifted a little higher each year on its growing supports, and with that height came the higher sweeps of wind, unfiltered by the heavy canopy of trees that covered the rest of the living land.

This castle, despite its walls and floor of warded wood – and he could see the decorative runes scrawling spells to repel fire, water and the erosion from air – was not one of Forêt. It hung too low in the world; the air was cold, but the stagnant chill that came from being close to a large body of water as opposed to that which came at the top of trees or the peaks of mountains. Though he could hear the wind outside, wailing without restraint as though there were no trees or buildings or protrusions in the land to keep it tied. As he listened, he recognised the sound of lashing waves as well, beating against rock – and perhaps castle wall as well.

So they were near the land's edge then. Or on an island long since abandoned by mankind.

'This place is to be abandoned?'

He turned to the pair, their moving lips now spelling audible words. He could see them more clearly too, although the candle had not changed its flickering light since the scene had come to him. The young woman was a rare breed of pale – even to the forest-dwelling folk in Forêt, who had the vast canopy of trees to hide them from the sun. In contrast the man's skin bore that sun's kiss, thoroughly tanned and gleaming a dull gold in the flickering candlelight.

The young woman shifted a little, then sank into the other's proffered embrace. 'I need to sit,' she said, softly yet clearly heard by her unintended observer as well as her companion.

The man, her companion, half carried her to the staircase at the hallway's end, and she sat gracefully on the bottom step. 'Your bed-chambers would be better,' he said, when she had refused his further movement.

'Here is fine.' She raised her head, long dark hair more apparent now that it was backed, not by shadows in endless space between, but by the candlelight reflecting off polished wood. 'And to answer your question…yes. The ocean will take this place back again.'

The man frowned at her. 'Once again, your Sight brings information but no hope.'

She cast her eyes down, rearranging the cloth of gown that spilt over her lap. 'I am sorry.'

'It cannot be helped.' He ran a hand through short-cropped yet similarly coloured hair. 'Though I confess I would rather you did not see these things; they have brought no advantage nor comfort yet. It is a curse.'

The woman's head shot up. 'Do not say such things, Brother! I refuse to believe that.'

'Be calm!' the man cried in alarm. 'Your body cannot take the stress.'

'It is my mind which cannot take this stress.' But the woman dropped her head again, one hand coming up to idly rub at the temple thereof. 'But tell me, Brother, why does the decay of this place pain you so? It is a castle yes, but a castle at the edge of the land which slowly breaks.'

The man sighed. 'It is depressing to hear such words from a woman of marrying age,' he said, 'much less a sister I would see to the altar myself.'

'I fear you will not.' But these words were said so quietly that her companion, her brother, did not hear.

But there was one watching who did. One who now stood apart from his dream and yet still a witness to it. Who could feel the light blanket wrapped around his body, protecting him from Autumn's sweet chill. And who could feel the comforting warmth of another body curled beside him, warding off more than just the cold night air.

* * *

Kouji stirred lightly, then opened his eyes. The darkness hung low over them, with only the far-off stars providing a source of light. The fireplace was filled with wood but empty; the night was cool, but their thin blankets were more than enough to defeat the chill. Indeed, he felt a little warm now, with his brother curled up beside him, head resting on his shoulder and in a similar cocoon.

Kouji turned his attention to his own blanket. The edges had tucked themselves in firmly in his sleep, and it took a little struggle to loosen them. Careful struggle as well, as his brother was lost in sleep still, breathing slow and even and almost soundless over the harsh buzz of Nighthawks outside. He lay stiff and silent moment, listening to that call – so much like the sound of saws cutting through a healthy log of wood – but restlessness seized him soon enough and he carefully worked his way out from beneath his brother.

Kouichi slept on, twitching subtly when the warm body pulled away but otherwise making no sigh. A smile twitched on Kouji's lips at the sight, before a frown snuck in to replace it. For his brother to sleep so deeply, it meant he was seeing beyond the normal realm of dreams, and into a future coming on an inevitable yet still far off tide.

But whatever sort of dream it was, there was little he could do about it. His brother seemed peaceful enough as well; the creases that formed on his forehead in a nightmare were notably absent, and there was no hitching of breath or sweating of bared skin. None of those tell-tale signs at all. And yet, Kouji felt himself hesitating, even if he knew the night would waste away in a useless and unneeded vigil.

But impatience won him over in the end, and he sat on the outside steps and listened to the Nighthawks buzz angrily at each other – or maybe that was their way of being friendly; he had no idea. Their buzzes all sounded the same to him; foreign sounds that made up the backdrop silence they called home, but could never truly comprehend.

The air was cooler, crisper outside. Clean because of the trees that filtered it. Nothing like the thin air of the Sun Mountains, or the heavy air that clouted the Polluée Valley. Kouji closed his eyes and felt the cool breeze upon his face, blowing away the dregs of sleep which clung to him from sleep.

He savoured it, because in the current peace he knew it wouldn't be long before they'd be deployed again. And who knew then, when on the road or in the middle of battles bordering on a full-scale war, when they'd smell the fresh air of home again.

He opened his eyes, letting the crisp air sting their reddened orbs. The gliding shadows of the Nighthawks were all the moved in the sleeping trees, but he knew that deeper in the forest the Night Market still ran, full of life as though the sun shone through that thick cover of leaves. But while where people lived the sun crept through as though the trees had left windows behind for them, deeper in there were no such natural lamps, but instead the strung-up lights hung from tree to tree, leading down a merry path.

He had travelled far, but there was still nothing quite like the subtleties that created his home. It was a peaceful, lulling thought, but the buzz of the Nighthawks and his own restlessness were enough to keep him awake.

* * *

His dream became a little colder, though Kouichi couldn't tell whether it was the scene he saw or his own body that was the source. The brother and sister were still by the stairs, the woman sitting gracefully with gown gently splayed about while the man had sat his candle down at her feet and leaned on the banister.

Silence had befallen them, after the woman's last comment had gone – intentionally it seemed – unheard by her brother.

'Why?' the man finally asked. 'Why does it bother you so?'

'Would it not bother you as well?' his sister returned, 'if you could not help but see into the future only for it to be of no use to anyone. I would much rather such things, such heavy burdens, to have some…_reason_, some worth in the end.'

The man considered, then nodded, his face hidden by the hallway's shadows – although his sister looked still at her lap and did not face his direction.

'It would,' he agreed. 'And I know better than most what pains you have paid because of it.'

'I'm sure…' Her voice trailed off a bit, before returning. 'I'm sure it will be worse later on, when the turmoil begins.'

'If only we knew when or where it would start!' The man clenched his fists, before casting the architectural barrier and casting himself down beside his sister. Unless her smooth gown however, his own nightclothes clung stubbornly to his skin and twisted uncomfortably, and he spent a good minute scowling over the knots before he was settled.

His sister was plainly amused, her mouth twitching before she bent over to help. The awkwardness of watching an intimate familial scene burned into the mind of the onlooker, but the unconscious step back put no additional distance between them. An observer in the castle he may be, but he was not bound – this time at least – by its spatial laws.

'Let us lead this topic,' the sister suggested, once they had settled again. 'I know well how useless it is to struggle against the tides of time. That turmoil will come, and in our lifetime for I have seen us both there, but until it comes we can do nothing but wait or live our lives.'

'So we are to be teased with the knowledge, unable to do anything at all?' The man frowned again. 'Whoever has given this power to you seems to enjoy the notion of feeding morsels and watching starving stomachs growl in return.'

'Let us talk of something else,' the woman pleaded again, and the man fell silent to her words. The waves lashed at the shores and the wind howled loudly, its cries echoing in the vast hollow castle space. 'I did have another…stranger dream,' the woman said, eventually.

'Strange?' her brother looked at her warily. 'Pray tell it is not as heavy a burden to bear as the first.'

'I do not know.' She shook her head, strands of black hair sliding over others before righting themselves. 'This was far into the future, I'm sure long after our deaths and the changes in the world – perhaps not even this world, and yet…'

'And yet?' He leaned a little closer to her.

The woman closed her eyes and breathed deeply. 'I saw the two of us, talking as we are. This very moment.'

The man started. 'You're sure?'

'The candle will go out the moment you stand again,' his sister said to him, opening her eyes. 'Then we will be sure it was the truth.' She looked away from her brother again, watching the unmoving spills of her gown. 'I do not understand it though, for I also felt things that were foreign to this world. Heard things – like the sound of a bird I have never heard before. Akin to the sound of bees or flies, and yet I was so sure it was a bird of the night – one of many kinds.'

The man watched her silently, following yet uncomprehending.

'The castle's air seemed almost strange as well,' the woman continued. 'Like it was something…foreign. Like everything I was seeing was through the eyes of another.'

'Another's…eyes?'

The woman nodded. 'It could be that I saw into the dream or vision of someone staring back upon the past. _Our_ past – the moment in time we are, even now, living out.'

'Is that…possible?' Her brother turned to her, his eyes dark in the candlelight.

'I do not know. In the scriptures that have survived there is not one word of a person ever being able to control their Sight, although…'

'But we are not talking about control –'

'We are,' his sister interrupted. 'Because this Sight cannot show the past; it is why we write things in books, and leave our words behind. With our human eyes we see the present; with this power I see glimpses of what is to be, but the past is, except what was recorded in its present time, is lost to us save in the dreams and memories of those who saw them…and lived them out.'

'But then how -?'

The woman shook her head. 'Perhaps things will change once the future comes to be, or else there is something more I am not seeing here. I cannot say. I cannot even say what I see –'

'What you see is a Seer in the future bearing witness to their past – our present,' the man bluntly put in. 'I know your uncertainty well, Sister, and this is not it. The details may be sparse, but the framework at least you are sure of.'

There was a pause, and then: 'I am, but…'

'You cast too much doubt on your words, Sister.' He grabbed her shoulders firmly, turning her to him. 'You suspect more than you have told; I know it.'

She turned her head away from him. 'Let me bear my burden in silence, Brother,' she said quietly. 'If it were a wound you got in battle, you would bear it in silence too.'

'I would, but that is not the same.'

'It _is_ the same.' She turned back to him, dark eyes two polished stones in the candlelight. 'It seems like a useless thing, I know, but I vowed to myself I would find some use in it. Let it be.' She closed her eyes and sighed. 'As for that strange dream I had, the only other thing I can say is that it felt like both a beginning…and an end.'

The man leapt up; in his haste he knocked over the candlestick and it tumbled on the floor before dying out.

'The candle has gone out,' the woman said unnecessarily, before continuing in the darkness. 'That means nothing, really. Simply that it marks a day where an old path ends and a new path begins.' She gave a ghosted smile, something Kouichi had no trouble making out even in the absence of light. From the lack of reaction from her brother though, it seemed he was not so fortunate. 'There are many sorts of paths: this path I speak of now is not related to you, or any other in our Court.'

'To you then?' The man's voice sounded strange: shaky, and yet hard as well.

'Perhaps.' A pause, before she added with some laughter in her tone: 'We should relight the candle, unless you wish to sleep here tonight.'

There was a forced lightly in the reply. 'It's a shame you can't use that Sight of yours to find it instead of me stumbling around in the dark.'

Except it was no longer the sort of darkness that pressed from castle walls, but the sort dusted with starlight streaming in from the wide windows of a wooden house, and the cold was no longer that which came from the sea, but from thousands of nestled trees in the forest that surrounded his home…and the snap of thread from something nearer.

* * *

Kouji had almost nodded off again when his brother's footsteps broke through the monotone of the Nighthawks. A blanket fell on his lap as his eyes opened: his brother's blanket, still warm from the body heat – and then the footsteps passed.

'Kouichi?' he asked, blinking before looking around.

Kouichi was looking at the Dream Catcher that hung by the door – or more accurately, taking it down. 'It's broken,' he said, sounding somewhat surprised.

'A nightmare?' Kouji stood, wrapping half the blanket around his shoulders and leaving the other half.

Kouichi shook his head. 'No, it was…not a nightmare,' he finished.

'It was -?' Kouji raised an eyebrow. 'If it wasn't a nightmare, then what else breaks a Dream Catcher?'

'A nightmare doesn't do this.' Kouichi showed his brother the Dream Catcher; its carefully woven threads had neither unravelled nor fallen apart. Instead, the few threads that had snapped simply poked out from other still woven threads. 'I wonder…if…' He didn't finish the sentence.

Kouji offered the tail of the blanket and Kouichi took it. 'Should we talk inside?'

'You offer me the blanket and ask me that?' the other shot back, taking a seat on the steps and tugging the other down as well. 'It's almost midnight; we should be asleep you know.'

'We should be,' Kouji returned. 'But I couldn't sleep, and you were either so sound asleep you've slept all you need, or you were Seeing again.' He stressed the word, and the other nodded slightly. 'What was it about this time?'

He sounded almost defeated, because nothing ever made sense from those dreams. Nothing about anyone they knew, though the stories reached them after a time. Soldiers they passed in the army dead or taken away. Merchants visiting, passing by, sometimes with goods never seen before – except in his dreams. But none of that meant anything: there was no meaning to time, no way of knowing whether it was a week or a month or a year or even further.

'It was about…' Kouichi looked towards the sky, to the shadows streaking across the diamond-dusted blanket of black. '…well, it was just about a brother and sister. Talking.'

Kouji raised an eyebrow, before stifling a yawn. 'A brother and sister,' he repeated. 'Anyone from around here?'

'Maybe. It was too dark to see their eyes, so I don't know.'

'But..?' Kouji pressed. 'Come on, I'm sure there's something more.'

'Well…' Kouichi dropped his head, one hand out of the blanket and still clutching the Dream Catcher. 'It was in a castle, on the sea –'

Kouji started at that. 'There's nothing on the sea but ruins!' he exclaimed. 'How far forward could it possibly be?'

'Or past…' the other mumbled, thinking of the words the woman had spoke. Almost as if they had been addressed to him instead of her brother, to that person in the far-off future who would see the scene she had built. A scene that would start and end something…though what, perhaps it was, still, only she who knew. He certainly could make no sense of it. 'He called it a curse,' he said, louder.

'Who?' Kouji asked, looking sideways at him.

'The brother. His sister disagreed. She said she refused to accept it. Refused to accept such inherent power had no purpose save to burden her with a future she could not change.'

'I see.' Kouji closed his eyes, hearing the Nighthawks call tirelessly to each other still. 'Is that supposed to be a gift or hope or despair I wonder?' A smile ghosted his lips. 'I can't help but think it would be better to forget it entirely.'

'So you always say,' the other said, a little tiredly. 'I think there must be _some_ reason though. Something none of can see at this stage. Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that don't seem to fit until the board is in place.'

'In which case there is little use worrying about it until the board _is_ in place,' Kouji pointed out. 'Is this any different to your other dreams?'

'I…' Kouichi frowned a little, opening his eyes into slits and peering into the wall of trees. 'I suppose not,' he said finally, although he did not sound convinced.

Kouji left it there, looking at the unmoving trees himself. 'It doesn't look like Father will be back tonight,' he commented. 'I think I'll head on back to bed.'

'I'll come soon,' Kouichi replied. 'I should write this down first.'

Kouji shot a grin at him. 'Make sure you don't leave the lamp on.'

'I won't.'

* * *

Kouichi had almost finished his entry when the front door opened, then closed.

'Father?' he asked softly, poking his head out.

It was indeed Kousei, setting his parcels down and shrugging off his coat. 'You should be asleep,' he whispered back. 'Is Kouji awake as well?'

'He went to his room not too long ago,' Kouichi replied, opening his door wider and letting his father through. The lamp-light seeped out, washing the living room in a dim glow. Both blankets were gone; Kouichi had brought his back to his room, and evidently Kouji had taken his own. The rug they had lain upon was still unravelled – and would be left like that until at least the morning, longer if the weather was kind so they could air it. And the fireplace remained unlit, the small pile of wood too far back to catch the light from his lamp.

Kousei closed the door behind him as he came, leaning against the wall and surveying the desk at which the other sat. The inkwell and quill were both out, the latter still in the ink and therefore in use. A book – one that had been bought some time ago from merchants hailing from Lumière – lay spread on the desk as well, carefully printed words now drying and awaiting the new.

'A nightmare?' Kousei asked, concern in his tone. 'I noticed the Dream Catcher was gone when I came in.'

'It's over there.' Kouichi pointed to his windowsill, and his father followed the finger, furrowing his brows.

'It doesn't look as though it is broken,' he said, going closer before finding he was, indeed, incorrect. 'That's strange.'

He felt the sticks that made the foundation; they were solid and strong, even after he applied a little force to them.

'Some of the threads are broken,' Kouichi explained, 'but the weaving pattern is still intact. I've never heard it happen before.'

'Hmm…' Kousei brought the Dream Catcher closer to his face. 'I am no expert in magic or the Sight. If that Merchant who showed you how to make these Dream Catchers comes by again we can ask him, but other than that…' His brow furrowed again, as it did whenever something befuddled him.

'I suppose it can't be helped.' Kouichi sighed, turning back to his desk. 'It wasn't a nightmare at all; just a…strange dream.'

Unlike his brother, his father did not pick up on the hesitation. Maybe it was the late hour, or simply their differences speaking for them. Or maybe his father had lived long enough to know a futility that they, still children in that sense, still fought against.

'You won't have time for these dreams soon,' Kousei said, just as that thought had crossed Kouichi's mind. 'The two of you are to depart the day after tomorrow.'

Kouichi twisted around. 'Depart?' he repeated in surprise, before sighing. 'I suppose that means our vacation is over. Do you know where?'

'A camp at the base of the Sun Mountains, near the Noirceur border,' Kousei replied. 'I'm afraid I don't know more than that; the King saw it fit to send me to Polluée Valley again.' His lips twisted into a grin. 'Too many more times, and the stench will never come out of my clothes.'

Kouichi smiled as well. 'Perhaps your Guard should instead work to rehabilitate the place.'

'Perhaps when these bandits learn their place,' the man responded with a chuckle. 'Though I am flattered the King has enough faith in me to think I will make a difference – though I might as well reason with trees for all the progress I seem to make.'

'Coming from a citizen of Forêt, that is high praise,' Kouichi pointed out.

'You're right,' Kousei agreed. 'I should reconsider that statement. And while I will never understand why your mind is still so sharp when the midnight hour is almost upon us, I suggest you head to bed as well. _Your_ bed mind you, and not the mat in the living room.'

'Of course, Father. I just have a little more to write.' Kouichi gestured at his book.

His father left him to it, and Kouichi picked the quill up again, re-reading what he had already written. "_It was strange,_" he continued, the soft scratches fading into the small room, "_to realise that, even in a dream, my presence could be assumed or sense by another, and another Seer at that. Seers, who can only see the future in their dreams. But what does that mean?"_

He was drifting again, drifting from fact to speculation…but skimming again, he realised he had covered all the facts – or what he thought of as such. And the question nagged at him. What _did_ it mean, for a Seer to see another Seer, when one existed in the past and the other in the future? How could it be, unless those memories had been deliberately passed on, either through the ritualistic magic that defiled the dead, or…

He shut the lamp, letting the blush that suddenly rose to his cheeks be drowned in the darkness. But that second option was impossible as well, even more so than the first. That true melding of minds could only occur by physical contact, and there were, if he wasn't mistaken, at least three hundred years between them. It had been that long, after all, since a dwelling had stood upon those little outcrops of the sea – though it had been called the Temple of the Court then. A Temple; not a Castle.

He shook his head, feeling for the edge of his desk and standing carefully. It seemed no answers would come to him that night, and sleep was the only thing that remained. The starlight crept through his window even as he cautiously lay down. The Dream Catcher's shadow could still be seen on the sill whereupon it had been replaced, and Kouichi stared at it until sleep tugged his eyelids down, wondering what could have caused its threads to break as it had.

Magic was all that came to mind. Something that allowed someone to slip – or break – into a person's dreams. Except they hadn't, and even with sleep tugging him down he was sure of that. He would have felt it, as separate from that vision as he had been. If someone had been observing as he had been, he would have known it.

But then why did that woman know of him and his dream? Had she been the one to break those threads, or had it been someone else?

The thought floundered about as he shut his mind.

* * *

The water in the basin splashed as though someone had thrown a small rock upon it, and Chiaki left her easel to peer into its wavering surface. The woman and man whose images she had frozen in there were gone, and the colourless salt which kept the water pure had long since dissolved and been replaced by the inevitable grains of dust. The black salts were still there, a lump at the bottom of the basin like the final dregs of coffee powder in a porcelain cup – but somehow the spell they wrought had been broken.

She tried to call up the image again, but the water settled and reflected only the distorted image of her own face. She broadened her search, looking for the Seer instead, but all she found was the faint outlines of shadow that told her nothing.

Perhaps if she could send a spell of light through she may see more of use, but as a Scryer she could do nothing but observe where that light naturally existed…unless another sent a spell through for her. But long distance casting was a difficult and energy-draining feat, something it was said that not even the greatest Magicians of Noirceur could accomplish for any useful length of time. And she didn't care to pay them the price they would demand in any case.

She stood and emptied the basin, before turning her attention back to the easel. The image was faded and indistinct, the white spaces she was yet to touch melting into her carefully brushed lines. It was no clearer to her than it had been within the basin, and no more of use either, but still she stared thoughtfully at it for a moment longer, as though it would reveal something to her. But when nothing did, and the white patches began to detach themselves from the painted ones and glare at their incompletion she turned the easel towards the wall and put the image out of her mind.

She heard the midnight bells chime from the cathedra on the outskirts of the city, and she opened her windows to the sound. No longer in need for the stagnancy that the ever-breathing wind would not allow, she found she much preferred the gentle breeze blowing the dust from her still room and form while she slept. And she could sleep with ease knowing the runes etched as a decorative border and running under the windowsill meant that no rain nor unwelcome scent would pass through to her. It would only be the sweet smell of freshly watered roses that would greet her when morning came.

Her braid undid easily, and she eased the ribbon that has bound it out. Once, when she had been unused to such ornaments, it would catch on her bed-frame as she folded it, but now it was a second nature to her, and she replaced it on her drawer for a comb. She ran the latter through her hair until there were no knots left for the fine teeth to catch upon before she set it down. The candles, on a rose-shaped frame on her wall, bent their flames towards the bed as she came to them, and she carefully blew at each before only the centre candle, upon where the stem ended and the petals began, remained lit. She left it alight and slipped the slippers off her feet and the thin sheets upon her legs instead. The lone candle flickered, then went out as the breeze from the window won out against the individual flame, no longer protected by its rune friends. But while many a thing was preserved in Noirceur by their runes, there were times when the natural, unwarded, thing was of better use.

There was no light now. The windows were too low to catch the light of the stars far above and in another world. But she cared nothing for those lights; she saw much more interesting things in the water. The basin may have been emptied and the easel turned away, but in the darkness it was those images that painted her ceiling, rather than the midnight sky beyond both sight and reach.

And before those indistinct faces too disappeared, she saw the fine silk threads of a Dream Catcher snapping. But it was a thought drifting with the tide, and her mind was no longer coherent enough to catch its worth.

That night, at least, would pass without event nor knowledge in her grasp.


End file.
